� Phil Spector, quoted in the Mick Jones Telegraph interview you have heard so much about

I sent a bug report to the New Yorker website on January 9, and they just got back to me, Thank you for writing. We will look into the problem you mention below. Isn�t that turnaround time very New Yorker of them? It is perfect. Note also please that by putting the Phil Spector quotation in my diary I imply nothing more than that I think the statement is interesting, the dichotomy of happiness vs. being reasonable. If being reasonable is an approach, then what is happiness? Spector supplies a working definition of it, elsewhere in the interview, with "Happiness is when you feel pretty fucking good and you've no bad shit on your mind." Which to me sounds as � yes! � reasonable as anything else. I also liked this, the mindset vs. the technology, though of course my personal sense of individuality is the number one thing preventing me from becoming Amish so I do not agree with that part of it.

Becoming Amish? Can you become Amish? Also, I guess it�s not so much a dichotomy, happiness vs. being reasonable, it is apples and oranges. So does that mean that contrary to what Phil says, because as we have seen he is no authority on the latter, it is possible for the conditions to coexist? Note to self: look into that.

Dude, I am so sick today, it is off the hook. I gasp, I ache, I wheeze, I wobble, my mouth is dry like paper, my eyeballs feel first hot and then cold, I am freezing under four layers of clothing, I cough until tears are running down my face all for the sake of tiny little Tic-Tac size globules of slime-green phlegm in my Kleenex (sorry). Everyone agrees heartily that I look and sound like hell. Much sympathy from the females in the office as regards the temp agency�s ultimatum, and they have taken up as a little game trying to figure out which of two non-beloved hospital employees was behind it. Melissa was all ready to call HR and tell them that this treatment of me was bullshit, but I persuaded her not to because I can ill (ha, get it?) afford to be seen as a workplace agitator or instigator, not now when that elusive Pap smear is so close I can� oh, never mind. Crude you want, crude you get! When I talked to my sister yesterday afternoon, in response to my frank answer to her "How are you feeling?" she called me Pumpkin McShit-Feely, so sweet and sympathetic, and then offered to call me at 6:30 this morning and wake my carcass up so that I would not risk being late, and you bet I took her up on that. I�m saying nice things about Mary not just because I�ve found out she occasionally dips into these pages � oh, and she also reminded me today to change my copyright mice type at the bottom of my pages, which you should do too if you haven�t already because you�d be surprised at how easy it is to get hosed � but because they are true. Also because she is going to give me the best e-mail address ever at her new URL. Who else is nice is Steve, who tolerated my hacking all night and then woke up much earlier than he otherwise would have to make me coffee and, even though I didn�t ask, a to-go order of bacon. I think I may have found the perfect man. Now I am typing for a little while before I blow this phlegm stand and head off to return my movies at Rain City, pick up a box of crackers, then brave the bridge with my Dead Man�s Scallops for Book Club tonight. Word.

I am sorry, did I seem crabby yesterday about the prospect of hanging out with Steve�s ex�s friends? You can chalk part of that up to simple sick-person crabbiness and part of it to the fact that I have already met one of the friends in question, Sunday night when the sickness was coming on bad, and it didn�t go so well. It was nothing that I said or did � note that I am not blaming myself � it�s just that where the mix of Yours Truly and a certain personality type is concerned it is another case of apples and oranges, or maybe more like oranges and network cables, and there�s nothing I can do about that, I fundamentally cannot grok what makes them tick. This guy reminded me a lot of Adam�s friend TV, or maybe a cross between Lucas and TV, and also of how irritated I get when that personality type is described as being "visionary," or when they describe themselves that way. I don�t understand what�s motivating the questions they ask as a means to getting-to-know-you, such as "What�s your second favorite pizza topping?" and "If you were an animal, which one would you be and why?" (TV) and "So what are your parasomnabulatory activities?" (the guy I met on Sunday). And I don�t say this in a me-so-superior way, I mean it as an expression of helplessness, because I would really like to be able to get on board with that kind of game because after all it is the game of choice of so many people, many of whom I might like to get to know. Why can�t I just answer the damn questions, why must I get hung up on analyzing where it�s coming from and what kind of a dossier they are putting together based on my answers � mushrooms; how the hell should I know; crying and singing and sometimes talking � why can�t I put down the filter of strategy and just tell myself that this is a valid means of interaction? I don�t know. And then it�s me who always ends up feeling like the failure, the prim-lipped dorm mother, the forever unvisionary. I can�t understand the thrust of that kind of question-asking, or the thrust/non-thrust (I bet there�s a word for that in German) like one of those toy knives with the rubber blade that touches you and then flops back over, gotcha, on itself, and, dammit, I want to understand. But my brain, the dear Calculator Brain that I love for better or for worse, is different.

A similar (?) thing I�m not good at is the what-if game, like sometimes people will want to get together and everyone share their opinions on What if women had never gotten the vote? or What if Rome hadn�t fallen? To me the discussion begins and ends with Well, that did happen. Not to be mean or anything, and sometimes it can be fascinating to read other people�s fully thought-out ideas of the what-if like the same way it is to read well-researched historical fiction (because Whatever�s in the details), but it�s not how I choose to spend my own mental energy, and, yeah, this is another thing that has on a few occasions gotten me sniffed at for a lack of imagination or vision, even pitied. Pitied! I call myself pragmatic and I disdain the pity with what dignity I can muster. I have no use in my life for what-if; we pragmatists are more at home with verb tense than verb mood, though you could make the argument that pragmatism is sometimes a defense mechanism, as for instance it would be against such questions as What if my father had let us go live with my grandparents when we were little, what if I�d gone to graduate school, what if I hadn�t quit my job at TankedStock.com and headed for Manhattan in my rose-colored glasses, what if Todd had never looked for thus never read my diary. I�ve got no time for that � no time. (Say it like Barnett in "Nashville.") He didn�t, I didn�t, I did, he did. End of story. No, those things *are* the story. And I'll wear it proudly.

I have a feeling this entry is all over the place � I typed it so fast! � but I also have a feeling I�ll be more gratified if I don�t edit the thing, if I just post and go. So.

I am invited out after work tomorrow with some of the Gastro ladies to celebrate a birthday! I am in the club. This also means that I can get a little drink on before flavor-of-the-monthing later at, god help me, Linda�s. Wish me luck and a peaceful frame of mind. Wish me oranges and network cables.

Is anyone taping the Michael Jackson documentary tonight? Can I borrow the tape?